


The Jackpot Question

by jat_sapphire



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jat_sapphire/pseuds/jat_sapphire
Summary: What are Bodie and Doyle doing New Year's Eve?  Inspired by the list of New Year's Pros fic on ci5hq on LiveJournal that were posted 1/1/19.  Ella Fitzgerald sings "What Are You Doing New Year's"here.





	The Jackpot Question

Ella Fitzgerald's clear, young voice finished its last note; the ensemble horns and piano concluded; the record hissed a little as the turntable slowed and stopped, and the automatic arm lifted the needle and returned to its off position.

"Nice," Bodie said. "Prefer it to Mozart, anyway."

Ray smiled, sipped from his drink.

Bodie quoted from the song, sort of. "And what are you doing, Raymond? New Year's Eve?"

"Oh, dunno. Good view of the skyrockets from here, might just stay home."

"Turning into an old man. No bird to see the old year out with?" Bodie turned to face Doyle, who was still looking forward and sipping, a thoughtful half-smile on his mouth.

"You know, Bodie. It's not just any date, New Year's. I did it with Claire, would've with Ann if she'd still been around. You do New Year's with Jennifer? Or your Claire?"

"Claire. You're right, though. Holidays. They're more intimate. Feels like a promise, kissing at midnight. Like you're going to be there all year. The birds think so, anyway."

Doyle leaned forward, put down the glass, settled back into the sofa. He looked sideways at Bodie. "'N then you're not."

"Not with them." Bodie grinned. "Should lay a big smack on Cowley, if it means that."

Doyle seemed to take an extra few seconds to answer, though his voice was amused when he did. "Anson. Charlie. Bloke from the armory that's always yelling at me about my gun."

"Sure, CI5 party, flit around the room kissing everyone, right? See how many I can fit during the chimes?" Bodie laughed.

"Or me." Doyle's voice was so much softer than before that Bodie hardly heard it.

"Sure, I'd fit you in," he joked.

Doyle said nothing. His chin was pulled in and the curve of his mouth twisted a little, as if to mock himself.

The silence wasn't easy, suddenly. Bodie picked up his own drink and felt the whiskey burn in his throat. Doyle watched him under those lashes of his.

Bodie cleared his throat. "Ray?"

Doyle flexed his eyebrows. "I'll be here all year, anyway. Watching you work through a thousand invitations."

Bodie answered by habit. “I _make_ invitations, my son. Otherwise I'd be snowed under.”

Doyle dismissed this boast with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, a thousand.” He downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass, then tilted it toward Bodie. “Want another?” He took the heavy cocktail glass out of Bodie's hand and went to the liquor cabinet, sloshed a couple of fingers for each of them and brought them back to the sofa.

“Ray.” Bodie's voice was quiet. Doyle didn't look, so he said it again. “Ray.” Their eyes met. “What's eating you?”

That self-mocking expression was back; Doyle looked away. “Don't want to be fit in. Crazy, like the lady says.”

“No,” Bodie said. He took a breath, set down his own drink, took Doyle's and set it down too. Sitting back in the sofa, he was a little breathless still, now that all that flirting, all that buried desire, had come down to something real. He reached as if into a fire, hesitantly, until he just touched the soft ends of Doyle's hair. Doyle stared back, his eyes wide and his face impassive, with that forced blankness of expression that could hide anything, really. He didn't pull back. He didn't lean in. “One little chance?” Bodie said.

“All the chances,” Doyle said, sounding as if he were giving up, giving in, though his eyes were bright and his face mobile again. He almost whispered, “What're you doing New Year's?” as he bent toward Bodie.

“You,” Bodie breathed, and kissed him.

He'd been right to think of Doyle as fire. He was like a skyrocket in Bodie's arms, exploding into movement, passion, hands and mouth everywhere. The most arousing thing about him was how much he wanted Bodie, pushing into his hands, sucking fiercely wherever his mouth fell, making small sounds that went straight to Bodie's balls.

He'd been in the room while Doyle romanced a bird, and he knew how women melted for this treatment, and for the way—yes, like now—the way Ray broke the kiss, tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and let his breath out on a long sigh. Bodie framed the uneven face with his hands to watch until Doyle opened his eyes and looked back, when they both smiled gradually.

“Give me the whole night,” Doyle said, his voice a low growl.

“Give me the year,” Bodie answered.

He wouldn't have thought Doyle's stare could be any more intense, but now it was, as he said, “More,” and then, “ _More_.”

It stretched Bodie's mouth to hear it. “Can't get enough, can you?” he said smugly, knowing all the while that he himself would never have enough of Ray. “The real jackpot question, eh?” Yet he couldn't quite ask it.

“Bodie,” Ray answered anyway, “you know. I. You. I do.”

It took bottle even to say so much, Bodie knew, but the dog's breakfast Doyle had made of it made him laugh, even though he expected the stroppy frown he got in response. “We're a pair,” he said. Then forced himself: “I love you.” He kissed the dent in Doyle's forehead and one downbent end of his lips, then the other, and then Doyle caught fire again, taking Bodie's mouth as if claiming a year's jackpot.

He was right: it was his. It was theirs together.


End file.
